Page 19 of Dragon Unleashed

Chapter Nine: Lorelei

I edge across campus, waiting for hunger to hit. The flowers in full blossom, the peaceful hum of the insects, and the stunning woodlands stretching out beyond the academy buildings aren’t enough to quell my anxiety like they normally would. Students mill around, squealing as they catch up with friends they haven’t seen in months. The place is buzzing. Yet the blood parasite inside me is quiet, thank the goddesses. I can relax, a little.

I chew my healing lip. It’s not a separate entity. I am half demon and half vampire.

It’ll take some getting used to.

In the meantime, I can feed from Chano. He didn’t exactly mind. A blush creeps up my cheeks and I rub the back of my neck.

I’m still smiling as I step into the cool of the library. The ornate tiled floor stretches into the distance, flanked by rows and rows of books. The intricately carved dark ebony shelves are almost more alluring than the books they contain. Every time I’m here the carved figures are in slightly different positions. It’s completely enchanting, and magically intriguing. Although whatspell allows them to shift like that, the Fates themselves only know.

Eventually I find the history section and prowl down the rows. Oddly, half these books are brand-new. I pick one up at random, flipping through the pages. Bizarre. It’s a complete mishmash of what I know to be true about the end of the royals and a whole lot of other stuff. Stuff about the Angel King.

It’s propaganda.

Fake news. This book, half of it at least, is just designed to big him up. I guess that’s where some of the extra funding is going: feeding students this crap. I huff in disgust and shove it back on the shelf.

Eventually I have a small pile of half-decent books, and I settle with them in an alcove. There are so few photos, just lists upon lists of names, types of magic, and family trees. I need photos, portraits, sketches, something more than words. I jam the books back into the shelves haphazardly and heave a few more down. I’m rapidly losing patience. How does Naeve spend hours in here?

One tome draws my attention. It’s blood red and the spine readsThe Genealogy of Modern Royalsin beautiful gold lettering. I run my finger over the intricate script and pull it from the pile. I dump the book on my table, and a cloud of dust puffs up in my face. Gross. How many ancient skin cells were in that? This is the last one today. I’ve gone without knowing my family for nineteen years. An extra day or two won’t kill me.

I wriggle my bum on the hard wood, trying to settle in. A hand descends over my shoulder, opening the book and flipping to a page near the end. I whip around, knife in hand.

Silas.

Our eyes lock. I don’t miss the moment his gaze slides to my dagger and he snorts, the corners of his mouth pulling down.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, tucking my knife back into my waistband.

“At the academy?” he asks. “My job. Here in the library with you…” Silas runs a hand through his gray hair and scowls “…I don’t rightly know. Hopefully not making a big mistake.”

He pokes the page again, glancing warily over his shoulder.

My eyes are drawn to her like a magnet. It’s her, the woman from the photo. From the nose up she’s my mirror image. The inscription beneath the photo dances on the page as my eyes water.

“No.”

“Yes,” Silas says.

I swallow. “You left the photo?”

His only response is a curt nod.

“Why?”

“You’re not winning the intelligence contest of the year. You’d have been dead before you worked it out by yourself.”

Fucking charming. I fold my arms across my chest, but he ignores me and continues.

“It won’t be easy, being a demon and a…” He glances furtively around again. My ears pop as he erects a silencing bubble. “Being a demon and a royal. You might not be a great example of a royal, but you are one. It’s got to mean something.”

He shrugs half-heartedly before turning on his heel. The low background noise of the library cranks up a notch again as the silencing bubble disperses. A thousand questions rush into my head just as he vanishes around a stack of books.

I can’t be royal. It’s not possible.

I read the inscription again:Princess Mael, last born princess royal. Not just any old royal.The ruling family.She was the last. The photo is more recent than I thought. She was my mom? Her date of death stares starkly up at me from the page. I swallow the damn frog in my throat. Dammit, I never knew this woman.

I thump my forehead onto the book, my eyes leaking stupid tears I don’t know what to do with. It can’t be true. History never mentioned her having a kid. She’d barely have been an adult when she died, when the royal family was wiped out. Where’s the time for her to have had me?

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